I’ve been writing life stories since I was a distracted fourth grade student in Mrs. Edinger’s class. Multiplication tables couldn’t hold a candle to what was going on in my head. Since then I’ve published articles in numerous papers and am currently working on my first book. To visit my site, please click here.

When you are given something called “Friendship Bread,” be wary.It’s not like I was given the actual finished product, I got the dough and a dizzying list of daily instructions with the promise of the finished product.That is when I got extra suspicious. I was told that “Friendship Bread” was an old Amish tradition (this is done as a selling point, I assume) but figured, anything with such a blatantly obvious adjective has got to be bad, right?I mean, for years I walked right by the closest neighborhood sushi (and never went in) because, and only because, it was called Amazing Sushi and everyone knows that anything called Amazing (fill-in-the-blank) has got to be major crap.(I later learned, in a desperately hungry moment of weakness that it is the best sushi in town.)Then there was the traumatizing experience years back visiting an old high school friend who was staying at a hotel in Miami Beach.I had planned a day filled with profound conversation and lounging around a sophisticated pool, and knowing he was staying in the prestigious neighborhood of Bal Harbor, I was equally excited for some pampering.But when I arrived at his hotel, a rinky dink “Quality Inn”, nestled as an afterthought amongst the glorious Fountain Bleu and other equally stunning condominiums, I knew the conversation would be good but the pampering non-existent. (We ended up sneaking into the Fountain Bleu’s pool.)

So here I was given a Ziploc bag with the contents of some sort of fermentation (ahhh, I mean, starter) called Friendship Bread.And believe me, had it not been given to me by my best friend, that friendship would have ended in the trash.There it sat on my counter, testing the plastic it was encased in, simmering and bubbling in its own quiet decomposition that, alongside the list of ingredients and degrees of massaging my photocopied instructions detailed, would promise after ten days to deliver an unforgettable bread, lest I screw the time schedule up.

I’m no good at time schedules so Friendship Bread immediately became a source of stress.I’m also not too neat, so, amongst the clutter of potholders, prescription medicines, and a crazy array of coupons never-to-be-used cut out by my ten-year old daughter (she has a coupon-cutting addiction; we’re working on it) sat the gurgling Ziploc.

And like a crazed woman wondering after she left the house if she turned off the oven or not, I questioned, “Is it day six or day eight?Do I massage (or as the instructions readily put it, “mush”) , let out air, or add a cup of sugar?”These thoughts seemed to consume me throughout my day (I know, my day needs to get more exciting, apparently) and each time I’d rush back home and look at that damn Ziploc bag, it would look pretty much the same.

In all honesty, I lost track of the days with the Friendship Bread, even with the starting date being written in big bold letters on the bag.I just was never good at math or logic or following instructions, and being barricaded into a time scheme with all of the above seemed to short-circuit my culinary instinct.So, I started going with my gut and guessing it was time for a quick rub of the bag, a shake upside down, some milk and sugar, all the while praying that Ziploc would live up to its good ‘ole American reputation and not disintegrate on me, sending the Friendship goop, which had now morphed into a repressed Enemy Bread, all over my cluttered countertop.

Ziploc didn’t disappoint and I am happy to announce neither did the Friendship Bread. After ten (or twelve?) days of huffing and puffing and worrying about nurturing this dough properly, I felt relief when the day came that I’d be able to rid myself of the responsibility by baking it.I swore out loud as my husband is my witness that I would never, ever go through this stress again.And then I baked it.And I tasted it. And I was changed. It was tender and moist, with a slight cinnamon sugar crunch from the coating outside, and it quickly became my best friend, washing all the worrying away and opening the door for a perfect companion to coffee.In the end, the best friendships are worth a little trouble.

Amish Friendship Bread

Do not use any kind of metal bowl or spoon. Do not refrigerate. It is normal for the batter to bubble, rise, and smell unpleasant. As air gets into the bag, just let it out.

Day 1: Do nothing. This is the day you receive the starter. Go by the date on the bag.
Day 2: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 3: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 4: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 5: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 6: Add I cup each of flour, sugar, and milk. Mush the bag WELL and reseal.
Day 7: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 8: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 9: Mush the bag, let the air out, and reseal.
Day 10: Follow the instructions below.

Pour contents of the bag into a non-metal bowl. Add 1 ½ cup flour, 1 ½ cup sugar, and 1 ½ cup milk. Mix thoroughly with a non-metal spoon or spatula. Date 4 Ziploc bags. Measure I cup o f the mixture into each of the bags and seal well. Keep one for yourself as a starter. Give the other 3 to friends along with a copy of these directions.

Grease 2 large loaf pans. In another bowl, mix an additional ½ cup sugar and 1 ½ teaspoon cinnamon. Dust the loaf pans with this mixture, reserving the extra to sprinkle on top. Pour the batter evenly into pans and sprinkle away.

amish bread: a friendship worth mushing for

6 Responses to “amish bread: a friendship worth mushing for”

Vanilla pudding mix, as is the Amish tradition, natch. Many times my mother got plastic tubs or Ziplock bags of starter, just as you did, but she never managed to actually make a loaf of the stuff. I am regretting that now!